Shamrock Me
by tampon-commercial
Summary: Niall x Reader late St. Patrick's Day crap. Actually I wrote this last year. Home for St. Paddy's day, a tipsy Niall finds a four-leaf clover along the way. He takes you home and decides to try his luck. xxx Enjoy! Rated MA for explicit adult content and some language. Sorry if the category is misleading! Wrote it for a friend. (PS I do not own this photo!)


ShamROCK Me!

Midnight is imminent upon the risen moon, approaching quickly as you and Niall finally say your goodbyes to the rest of the boys. Arm around his waist to steady him, you help the gorgeous Irishman down the stairs of the pub. As is the Irish tradition on St. Paddy's day, Niall's had his (more than) fair share of Guinness tonight.

Zayn peeks his head out the door and looks at you meaningfully. "Hey, you sure you know where Niall's place is at? Don't let him drive!"

Before you can say anything, Niall interrupts. His slurred brogue tumbles out, rough in contrast with Zayn's hushed British accent. "Ya, don't worry about it! Th' girl knows where my place is! Tell the boys not to get to drunk unless they want to get deported!"

Cautiously, Zayn shuts the pub door once more–leaving you with a very tipsy Mr. Horan. He puts an arm around your shoulder. All of the rowdy laughter and shouting from the pub fades into a hum as soft as the breeze that caresses the countryside, as distant as the stars in the clear night. The countryside of Niall's hometown, Mullingar, and its expanse of rolling hills lie quilted in moonlight.

Niall's tranquil, sapphire eyes contrast sharply with his toasted cheeks and nose, still cherry red from too much drink. But his eyes are locked on the buttery moon. "Pretty night, eh?"

Your left hand moves to his shoulder. You lean against his sturdy torso. "Yea. Hey, Niall, we gotta get you home before your mom starts to worry."

He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes still transfixed on the moon. "My mam won't mind. Not like I live with her anyway." Sighing, you stand with him on the moonlit street curb a bit longer. Then, you take his hand and lead him to the car. Acting upon instinct, you unlock the car doors and hop in on the left side, searching for the ignition. You look back to find Niall's expectant (and slightly amused) stare upon you. Right. The driver's seat is on the other here in Ireland. You pray that the milky darkness of midnight will hide your strawberry, blushing cheeks. Once you're both in the car, he cocks a dark eyebrow at you before flashing one of his signature grins. His confidence about his smile has always been infallible–before the braces, when he had them on, and now, without. His face, while ruddy and a bit blurred by sleepiness and drink, is still aflame and irresistible.

"What's next, babe? Are you going to drive on the wrong side of the road as well?"

You lean towards him, cupping his moonlit cheek in your palm. "I don't think so, Ni. I should be able to drive just fine. Because unlike you," You lean back in your seat a little, "I'm sober." With the last word, you push his cheek away gently.

You drive together in silence along the sloping, empty roads. Not accustomed to hard partying and the generous amount of celebration, the lateness of the hour has taken a toll on Niall's usually bubbly attitude. He allows a long, purring yawn to escape him. You watch him with affectionate eyes. "Tired, Ni?"

He rolls his eyes, discarding the notion with a flick of his hand. "Who do you think you're talking to, eh?" Well, at least his sass hasn't wafted into the night and dissipated amongst the stars. He unbuckles his seat belt, whipping off his olive green button-up off. He meets your puzzled eyes with a smirk. "What, babe? You don't think it's hot?"

In response, you lean over and pinch the taut skin over his stomach. He jumps in his seat. "Oi! What was that for?"

"You're not wearing any green, Niall."

He points at himself. "My eyes are clearly green!"

You take a long look into his baby blue eyes. "You've clearly had too much to drink."

"My eyes change colors!" He protests. He runs a hand through his silvery hair. He turns his head, revealing a bright emerald streak in his wispy locks. "And you forgot about this." He grins before leaning towards you and landing a quick kiss on your cheek.

Now you raise an eyebrow. "Ni..?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do that again." Cupping your cheek in his big palm, he plants his lips on your cheek again. This time, he lingers a little longer. Boldly, he turns your cheek and trails his wandering lips onto yours. The tastes of beer and mint fill you. He nibbles on your bottom lip, pressing harder against you as you elicit a soft moan.

Finally, you arrive at his house–a quaint two-story brick home on a secluded vein of the road. He steps out, sauntering onto the curb and stepping up to the lawn when your arm shoots out to grab his. "Wait!" You gasp. Bending over, your fingers stroke the ground right where he would've stepped. You pluck the slim stem of a clover and hold it aloft. Glinting with dew, the little plant showcases its four heart-shaped leaves.

Niall gingerly takes it into his own fingers. "Bloody hell!" His whisper is laced with sharp fascination. "A four-leaved shamrock, eh? This means you're gonna get lucky!" He senses your questioning look. "Er, you'll ah, you'll have good luck."

Unlocking the door, Niall staggers into the house. He lumbers into the kitchen, dampens a paper towel, and wraps it around the slender sprig of a shamrock. He pauses, pursing his lips before gesturing to the clover. "Oi, speaking of Irish folklore and beliefs and such, you know what limericks are?"

What? Perhaps Niall's more than tipsy. "Uh yeah. They're poems."

His smile takes on a new light–a much more naughty one. "Yea, well, d'you want to hear one I just thought of?" He nod tentatively. He places both of his hands on you and trails them downward, until one his gripping your left hip while the other rests on your ass. "Ok. Here it goes: There once was a chap called Niall, His mates thought he partied like a child. No they didn't think, he could handle his drink, but the snots passed out while he just stood there and smiled."

You snort at first, trying to contain the laughter that is building up quick, but his goofy grin brings you over the edge. You giggle wildly, while he just clears his throat. "Oi, all I'm sayin' is that an Irishman can hold his drink. So don't worry about me." But you barely hear him over your laughter. In response, he leans over and silences you with a long, shameless kiss. He brushes your lips lightly at first, then clasps your hips in a viselike grip and pushes you against his countertop. Quiet groans escape you as he presses harder against your lips. His tongue probes your entrance, and you let him trace your teeth and caress your own tongue. His right hand takes yours, guiding it down his lean torso and onto his pelvic bone. You venture southward, stroking the bulge in his pants. He pushes it towards you, grinding up against you in a slow rhythm.

You whine in disapproval as he pulls himself away. He unbuttons his pants and reaches a hand into his boxers. "Sorry, love. Time for bed." You see his hardening cock stiffen and twitch in his grip.

Little shit. You chase after him, kicking off your heels as you do so. He nearly trips as he lumbers up the stairs and grabs the railing. You tap his shoulder. "Ni," as he turns, you drop to your knees in front of him. Hands trembling, you hitch your thumbs on the elastic of his boxers and pull them down. His half-formed erection springs out, and you gawk at his size. You lick circles on his reddened tip experimentally, and then with growing confidence, take him in your mouth.

He moans out in ecstasy. "Oh, babe, fuck!" You take him out of your mouth, dropping to his inner thighs and alternating kisses between his right and left thighs. Niall thrusts his cock at you, trying to get you to take it again. "You little fucking tease!" He holds your head straight and pushes himself into you. Tears spring to your eyes as you feel him in the back of your throat. "How do you like my cock, girl? Lick me good." You stroke his lengthy shaft, cupping the base. As he starts pumping under your grasp, he steps back.

He scoops you up and puts his mouth to your ear. "Enough of me, dear. I want you sopping wet before I go inside of you." You nod wordlessly. You're already dripping considerably, and the notion of the Irish sex god inside you puts a dazed smile on your face. He kicks off his pants and carries you upstairs. He places you on the bed face-up, wasting no time to tear off your strapless (green!) dress and tossing it behind you. Your hair splays out from underneath your head. Niall steps back to admire your forest-green lace lingerie set, lined with emerald rhinestones. "Damn, had I known you were wearing this, we would've left a lot earlier."

"Well I hope it was worth the wait." You manage. He yanks your lace thong southward, massaging the skin over your pubic bone and pausing at your entrance. He cups your sex in his warm palm, letting your wetness flow over it.

His eyes bore meaningfully into yours. "Don't come until I tell you to, eh?" You nod, trying to choke back your pleas for him to just shut up and throw himself into you. He pushes his index finger inside your entrance and traces figure 8's around your clit. Your mouth is open in a silent scream. He pushes in and out, quickening the pace and adding another finger. He spreads his fingers and pulls them back together in scissor-like motions.

Niall pulls his fingers out and licks them. "Mmmm, you taste so good. So sweet. I want to taste your from the source." With the passion of a five year-old at an ice cream shop, he probes his tongue into you, lapping up the wetness. You buck your hips involuntarily as your muscles coil up and tremble. You're close, real close, and Niall can feel it.

He looks up angrily, lapping up your juices from his chin. "Stay still! I told you not to come until I said so! Turn over!" Whimpering softly, you tremble as you turn over. "Put your arms above your head right now!" You obey. You hear the velvety hissing as Niall undoes his tie. Fumbling, he struggles to fasten both of your hands to the bedpost. He unhooks your bra and covers your cleavage with those long, adept fingers. Ignoring your purrs and groans, he pinches and pulls your nips until they harden under his touch. Your vision starts to blur.

Still on top of you, he reaches into the drawer next to the bed and pulls a tiny square package out. He opens it, revealing a (guess which color!?) condom. In record speed, he pulls it over his considerable length. You shudder with anticipation, bracing yourself for the impact of him. His hands trace your body one more time. "Shh, stay still. You should probably come now." He rubs his stiff erection over your backside before reaching your entrance. He digs his nails into your shoulders before thrusting in from behind. You muffle your wild scream with his pillow.

"NIALL! Fuck, Niall. Oh, god Ni." Niall answers with a series of quick grunts as he pushes in and out. Your sweat-slicked bodies collide together at a fast-paced tempo. You arch your back, gritting your teeth as you reach your first orgasm. As soon as Niall feels your walls tighten around him, he pulls out. Your pussy contracts rapidly, searching for something to grasp.

"Niall! Niall, please." As your first orgasm vibrates through your body before quieting down, he re-enters you. This time, he moves slower. He pulls out again.

"Turn over." He growls. With difficulty, you twist around. Your arms are tangled uncomfortably, but his moist lips trailing over your boobs feel amazing. You're on fire. With every touch, your senses sharpen. He reaches his hands behind your head and pulls at your hair. Every thrust crashes upon you like a wave at high tide. Niall's ass tightens as you wrap your legs around him. His orgasm is near, while your second one is nearing its climax. He pulls himself out until just the swollen tip of his cock is kissing your entrance. With a shout, he drives himself into your deepest parts. Every single one of your senses is filled with him, his cologne mingling with the wet scent of your sex. You blink wildly to prevent caving blackness from filling your sight.

Niall's pumping subsides, and he's shuddering as he removes himself from you. The post-orgasm tiredness swoops over you and scoops you into the world of the sleeping. But just before you leave him, a quick "I love you!" escapes your lips in a fleeting whisper. But you know that his sapphire eyes are still hovering over the sight of your exhausted body, and his lipstick-smudged lips are still tingling from the loving blows you two exchanged.


End file.
